Me and Mrs Jones
by Lord Tubbington
Summary: Sam and Mercedes meet up at the same cafe every day at 6:30. They order the same food and share similar stories, but just one evening, Sam decides to break their routine. A cheeky Samcedes one-shot based on the lovely hit by Billy Paul ("Me and Mrs. Jones).


**Author's Note: Sooo I've never written a Samcedes fic and honestly, I didn't ship the two of them on the show but I've been listening to "Me and Mrs. Jones" for like a week now and it wouldn't get out of my head to write a one shot based on it! For anyone that follows my other stories (particularly Letters of the Misconstrued), have no worries I will update that fic. I'm just a bit lost on inspiration for it, but hopefully writing this will reboot my muse. I hope you guys enjoy this blerg of a thing and please feel free to favorite or review so I know whether this was a good idea or not! Thank you! (:**

You walk into Cafe Cannelle, your eyes immediately scanning the tiny building for an empty booth. There were plenty of chairs available, but you could never get comfortable in them, way too wooden or stiff for your butt. You rub the back of your neck out of habit when you can't exactly decide your next move. Your eyes drift up to the old clock on the wall, twenty five past six. You were early for once, but now you didn't know what to do. Do you wait until 6:30 before sitting? Or just snag a table and let her know where you're at? You start up another habit of indecision, chewing on your lip. You needed to make a decision otherwise you'd chew your lip to bits and need the chapstick you oh so conveniently left at home yet again.

You scan the cafe one last time, noting there was a booth situated perfectly in the back; it'd be private but it was occupied. You straighten up, putting on your best smile (but you're careful not to make it too big, you didn't want to scare the guy) and made your way to the booth. You cleared your throat lightly, "Hey.. I was uh.. wondering, could I snag this booth from you? Please?" The guy just stares at you blankly. _Houston, we have a problem_, you can't help think. You sigh lightly knowing that you're about a tenth of a second from doing a Matthew McConaughey impression to get on his good side but there was no need. Without a word, he gets up, grabbing his coffee mug and book and takes it to one of the tables a couple feet away. You smile, waving politely at the guy as you take a seat in the booth. You were ecstatic that guy gave up the booth so willingly though you were a bit disappointed you couldn't do some sort of impression for him (you'd been perfecting that Matthew McConaughey one for years now). You glance back at the clock, it only took three minutes for the anticlimactic event to occur yet she hadn't arrived. You frown before pulling your phone out, your fingers poised to shoot out a quick text when you hear her call out toward you.

"Why, Mr. Evans, it appears you've beaten me here. I'm impressed."

You grin as you stand back up to greet her. "I thought I'd change things up for once." You puff out your chest in pride before grabbing her hand lightly and kissing her knuckles.

"Silly silly Sam Evans. Sit your cute little butt down."

You chuckle, sitting down the same time as she. "So.. Mrs. Jones, what shall we order today? The apple pie again? Or are we feeling adventurous and are going to try the peach cobbler?"

Mercedes smiles at you, shrugging. "You decide."

"Apple pie, it is!" You were really hoping she'd let you pick this time. You'd been craving the apple pie since... well, yesterday.

"Just don't tell my nutritionist! She'd have me dead if she knew I ate pie with you every day."

"Pfft, c'mon Mercedes. Even if she knew about your addiction to pie, she wouldn't kill you. There's no way she'd kill the biggest female singer ever to hit the R&B charts since Whitney herself."

"You never know!" She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a whisper. "White people are crazy, Sam!"

You can't help but laugh at her. "Trust me, I know they are. But we're mostly just crazy in love with you." You wink, always prepared to turn up your cheesy charm. That line earned you a light smack on the arm.

"You're going to make me blush if you keep saying things like that."

"Good. I like being able to make you blush.. and laugh... and smile. Have I told you that you have the most beautiful smile?"

She bit her lip in an attempt to hide her smile. You liked, no loved this about her, how she'd still get all shy when you complimented her. "Yes.. you tell me every day."

"And I mean it more and more every day." You were fairly certain she heard compliments like that all day, but it made you feel special that she never got tired of hearing you say them. You shuffle in your seat, "So.. how are things?"

As often as you two hung out (which was every evening), you really hated asking her that question. You knew exactly how things were with her. You made sure to snag every copy of every magazine or newspaper that mentioned her. You liked to remind yourself of her successes and you enjoyed how proud you felt when you'd read just how loved she was. Honestly, you didn't mind that part of the conversation. You were fascinated by all the things celebrities did. Every day it seemed that she had just finished a photo shoot or shot a commercial or did an interview. You could listen to her all day and night about the inner workings of a recording artist and the sacrifices they make. But it was always when she finished explaining why her record company wanted her to advertise a certain product that you wished you hadn't asked that question.

"He's doing really well too. Mike got back in the studio just in time for a job. Apparently, Beyonce called him up and said she needed another male dancer ...I'm still skeptical. No way did Queen Bey personally call him. He's probably over exaggerating like he always does." She rolled her eyes before laughing softly.

You tune her out then, nodding your head and smiling when you note the change in the inflection of her voice. You've gotten really good at this, sadly. You just don't care to hear news about her ..husband. The only aspect of the relationship you approve of, is Mike taking Mercedes' last name instead of her taking his last name. Mercedes Chang just doesn't have the same ring to it as Mercedes Jones. And no matter how often she mentions him (which she does every day.. since they're married), you get that feeling of jealously in the pit of your stomach. What did she see in him? You subconsciously rub your stomach, wondering if maybe it was his mystical dancer abs that attracted her. You knew how they got together but not the logistics behind it. You didn't remember Mike being incredibly attracted to Mercedes in high school or give her the inspiration to pursue the career that was now making her famous nationally. You just didn't understand. You did everything for her, sang for her, cared for her, you even fought over her with another guy.. yet it didn't change a thing. She was with Mike and you were single.

"Sam?... Everything okay?"

You blink back into focus as her concerned tone reached your ears and her light touch caressed the fist you hadn't realized you had made. "Oh.. yeah. Sorry. I was just imagining Beyonce having Mike's number on speed dial or something crazy like that." You force out a light laugh, hoping she'd take it as something genuine.

She laughed with you, shaking her head. "I know, it's crazy.. but it might be true. But what I was trying to tell you is that I can't stay today... my agent needs me to go over some stupid itinerary for the next week." Mercedes rolled her eyes before squeezing your hand. "Sorry, Sam.. but I'll see you tomorrow?"

You return the smile the best you can, "Same time, same place."

She nods, getting up from the table slowly.

"Uh.. wait. Mercedes... before you go.." You grab ahold of her hand, pulling her to your chest. For a moment, you get lost in those familiar soulful eyes, they've matured quite a bit but you swear you can still spot the love she has for you. You lean down, brushing your lips against hers. It was light, hardly worth being called a kiss but it felt more meaningful than a peck. You could taste the watermelon lip gloss she always wore, causing you to lick your lips. You want more, a deeper kiss or at least a longer one but you pull away soon after your lips meet hers. "...until tomorrow, Mrs. Jones."

Mercedes seems flustered as she nods quickly. "Goodbye, Sa- I mean, Mr. Evans." She gives you a final grin before rushing off outside to catch a cab to her studio.

You sigh, slumping back into the booth. You two had been coming to this cafe every day for the past two months and that was the first time you had struck up enough courage to kiss her. It was exhilarating and gave you hope that maybe, just maybe, things would turn around for you two.

You easily fall into thoughts of what you'd talk about with her tomorrow, whether she'd bring up the kiss or not. And just for a moment, you slip out of your thoughts to listen to the cafe's jukebox and it's as if some unearthly being is poking fun at your life. You get up, shaking your head with a small smile as Billy Paul's "Me and Mrs. Jones" plays in the background. You were beginning to think it might become your new favorite song.


End file.
